


Rule of Three

by gamera (Megan)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Come Shot, Crying, Deepthroating, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Control, Oral Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Unreliable Narrator, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18456443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/pseuds/gamera
Summary: Wherever he was now, it wasn't a tavern off the high road. And whatever this man was, he wasn't a rich magician looking to slum it for a night with a boy in a tavern.





	Rule of Three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



This bastard had cheated; it was the only way he could have beaten Finn. Never mind that his certainty came from the fact that the card in the man's hand was in Finn's sleeve at this very moment-- it was still certainty. And it was even worse coming from someone with shining hair and fine clothes and a plummy, affected accent when he drawled things like *I suppose you may call me Idris*. As if that were some false name given for Finn's benefit.

And maybe it was. He'd need to be a magician or a demon or a fairy for Finn to miss him slipping a card into his hand, and magicians were always jumpy about speaking their names.

Everyone knew it was the worst sort of rudeness to cheat when you were the one who had too much money to lose. Wasn't fair, not when the guards would be on your side.

"Since you don't have the money to pay what you owe, I'll have a forfeit from you." Idris leaned in, and if his ability to produce a card out of thin air hadn't tipped Finn off that he was a magician or worse the sudden heaviness on the air as he lowered his voice would have. "I would say it's worth, oh... going out back and sucking my cock."

Devils take him, but Finn should have guessed it would be something like that. _Magicians_ , always thinking they could have whatever they wanted from anyone.

Whatever Finn's face looked like, the man chuckled. Like Finn was a child who had said something clever, or particularly well-trained hound.

"Your face! You'd think I asked you for something absolutely filthy." The word _filthy_ slips off his posh tongue like a dirty thing in its own right, a promise of deviance far beyond sucking some rich bastard's cock. "Sit for a moment and have a drink, and we'll call it your forfeit."

Finn didn't say anything.

"Just a drink. One." The man slid his glass across the table, and the half-full whiskey was perhaps a bit more compelling than it should have been in questionable company. "You've seen me drinking from this the entire time you were cheating your way through that card game, boy. You know full well it isn't poisoned."

The bastard probably wanted to ply him with liquor, get him too drunk to know down from up. Finn had never done that to a lass-- there were some things even a scoundrel shouldn't do-- but he'd known a few lads who'd done it. Enough of them to catch on when the same was being tried on him, certainly.

He'd just have to pace himself. A drink, the man had said. That meant just one, like he'd clarified the second time; magicians paid attention to that sort of wording, didn't they? He wasn't about to get tricked into some spell that would put him under this man's thrall.

Not that he'd ever known anyone that had happened to, exactly. But there was always a friend's cousin's sister who'd narrowly escaped from that sort of thing, and with a sleeve full of cards the guards outside would likely leave Finn to his fate.

"Fine," Finn said, picking up the glass. " _One_ drink."

That earned him a smile, so white it was almost blue. Far past the white of snow, as if Idris' teeth were made of ice.

"Clever boy," he said. "One drink and then you're free to leave. You don't get handed over to the guards, I get to have a bit of conversation on a boring night, and we both leave here no poorer than when we started."

It _was_ whiskey in the glass, and a finer one he might not have ever had. But it was fine in a mundane way, merely the taste of finely-aged liquor on his tongue and not some trick of magic. No demon or magician or other monster hiding in the shadows had tried to trick him into drinking something that would leave him dead or worse.

Fine enough, in fact, that he took a greater swig of it than he'd meant to. Finn had planned to take a sip at first, both to gauge what it was and to make sure the man didn't mistake him for trying to break this wager, too. If he did that, he'd find himself out in the snow at best and hanged as a thief at worst. There never was a good way to tell how a new tavern would take to a snake in their midst until one got caught.

He caught himself after he swallowed, and put the glass down before he could drink more. Bad enough that the liquor was so good that he couldn't help but chase the last drops from his lips with his tongue.

It felt... odd. His mouth had never been that sensitive before.

Idris picked up the glass and set it back down in front of him, far enough away that Finn would have to reach out and take it for another swallow.

"I can hardly have my drink if you take it from me," Finn said. For some reason, it felt impertinent to say it-- dangerous, even, a warning upon the air. It didn't feel like any magic he'd ever run into before, neither from his mam's half-competent witchery nor from any traveling magician.

"Are you feeling all right?" Idris asked. "It's right in front of you."

And so it was. When had it--

Finn managed not to shiver, but only just. He wasn't in someone's cousin's friend's tale of a scoundrel magician; he'd never heard of magic like this. No, this was something worse.

"Your mouth is lovely, you know," Idris said, and he hadn't been so close a moment ago, either. Finn was sure of it-- he'd been across a table big enough to play a hand of cards at. Now he could feel body heat, Idris' knee against his. "I know you won't suck my cock, but may I touch you?"

He didn't wait for Finn's _no_ , simply pressed the tips of two fingers to the center of Finn's lower lip. It was gentle, a flirtatious sort of tap, but then he left his fingers there instead of pulling them away.

Worst of all, he was hard-- moreso than he could recall ever having been, his cock straining against his trousers. Idris' knee was so close, the two of them all but pressed thigh to thigh under the table. If only either of them shifted the slightest bit, his thigh would be between Finn's and his knee against Finn's cock.

The idea of it made him shudder, and an urge to slither down from his chair and kneel under the table came alight in him so swiftly that Finn knew the thought couldn't be his own.

"You ought to be more careful about doors, boy," Idris said, eyes gleaming pale in the low light of the room. "You never know when one might lead somewhere unexpected."

Three times. Finn had knocked his knuckles on the doorframe three times for luck, and damn his mam and her witch blood for whatever wretched gift had shaken off its slumber and caught some monster's attention.

Wherever he was now, it wasn't a tavern off the high road. And whatever Idris was, he wasn't a rich magician looking to slum it for a night with a boy in a tavern. Threes and his insistence on rules meant-- oh, devils take him, it meant Finn was dealing with one of the Fair Folk. One of the Fair Folk he'd just tried to cheat after requesting entrance to his domain.

"And then you try to cheat a man in his own house," he went on, holding the glass-- and thus the terms of his bargain-- out of Finn's reach. "Surely you're not so ill-mannered as all that."

His lips tingled where those fingers had pressed onto them a moment before, a tingle that intensified into a prickle, then almost into a burn. An itchy sort of burn, tender and uncomfortable but not truly painful.

"You've given me something," Finn mumbled, tongue heavy in his oversensitive mouth. "In the liquor."

"I haven't, I swear on every god there's ever been and every other oath I've ever made." Idris pressed his two fingers to Finn's lips again, and the rasp of skin against his tender mouth made his cock twitch. "Don't blame me because you want something in your mouth. I offered to give you what you wanted before all of this started."

He pressed again, harder, and the rush of sensation punched a gasp out of Finn. His parted lips gave the man all the opening he needed to push his fingers inside, searing a horrible heat down Finn's throat to pool low in his belly. Never had any touch on him, anywhere, felt like that, let alone on his bloody mouth. 

The pleasure didn't abate when those fingers slipped past his lips to rest on his tongue, a place on his own body that he had never once considered in the context of fucking. Considered it on other people, yes-- who with a cock hadn't?-- but not ever for himself.

Now the rasp of fingertips over his tongue made him curl it around them in pleasure, feeling out the texture and drawing them further into his mouth to that end. It happened without thought, without conscious effort, his mouth working without any purpose except to feel more.

After entirely too long-- or perhaps not long enough-- Idris withdrew his fingers, and Finn barely caught himself before he followed them with his mouth.

"I'd offer you the glass, but I suspect you'd rather have the bottle." He laughed when Finn groaned-- at least a bottle would be something to wrap his lips around, something to stop him from fumbling his own fingers into his mouth. It might even be long enough to swallow down, to fill up the emptiness in his throat.

"What did you do to me?" Finn clasped his hands together to stop himself from shoving three fingers in his mouth. He could all but feel the pads of his fingers pressing down on his tongue. "What did you _do?_ "

"Have a drink. It will calm you down." He unclenched Finn's hands as easily as an adult might have done to a child, and placed the bottle between them.

He only meant to drink the whiskey, to take the last swig left in the bottle and then put it down. Perhaps throw it to the ground and shatter it, so that he couldn't be tempted to suck on the neck of it. He raised it, put it to his lips instead of inside his mouth, tipped back his head, and swallowed.

Finn hadn't even finished his swallow before the mouth of the bottle slipped between his lips.

He managed not to shove it further into his mouth, not to bob his head up and down like the desperate beast he couldn't deny that he felt like. That was _all_ he could manage to salvage of his dignity; as soon as the burn of liquor went down his throat he was sucking on the mouth of the bottle, tonguing the rim as a moan slipped from his throat.

"You should have all your drinks that way." Idris reached out and patted his cheek, as if to feel his mouth around the bottle. "Showing the bottle how much you love it every time you take a sip. There's plenty of time for you to finish your glass later, isn't there?"

_What did you do to me?_ He couldn't make himself lift his mouth from the rim of the bottle to ask, and even the thought escaped him when Idris slipped his hand down the front of Finn's trousers. When had he unlaced them? How long had he been so desperate for it that his cock jumped in Idris' grip and he jerked his hips forward when Idris' hand turned rough?

"No," Finn panted out between desperate breaths, finally managing to pull his lips away from the bottle. "You cheated, you son of a bitch!"

"You are confusing me with yourself." Idris wrenched the bottle out of Finn's grasp with the hand that wasn't on his cock. The sound of it falling to the floor was the saddest thing Finn had heard all day; now what was he going to put in his mouth? "I said that the whiskey wasn't drugged and that you could leave after you finished one glass. I promised you nothing else."

His fingers, he could suck on his fingers. Except that his hands wouldn't move; they stayed loose at his sides as Idris stroked his cock faster and faster.

"Are you sure you don't want to suck my cock?" Idris asked, soft but implacable as Finn panted in his grasp. "If you ask nicely, I will still let you."

"You could-- wouldn't you rather--" He had trouble finishing a coherent sentence, too distracted by trying to lick away the trickle of saliva teasing at the corner of his mouth. He wasn't some animal to be drooling onto the ground, for fuck's sake. But when he licked at it, the feeling of his tongue over his oversensitive lip made his mouth water more, which made him want to lick all over again.

He was definitely drooling like a hungry dog as he sucked his lower lip between his teeth and began to nibble at it. Only a little, to distract himself from how much he wanted--

"I could what?" Idris murmured into his ear. Instead of waiting for an answer, he pressed his thumb past Finn's attempts to keep his mind where it belonged.

The rasp of his thumb on Finn's tongue was everything he'd ever wanted. Far more than the hypnotic rhythm of pushing his mouth up and down the neck of a bottle, even more than having someone else's hand on his cock.

He could feel every whorl of the thumbprint, every rough hint at a callus that hadn't been at all visible to the eye. The firm weight of it, the press of the rest of Idris' hand keeping it there with a lighter touch than his hand on Finn's cock, and the taste of his skin-- they were all were taking away his ability to think and replacing it with fog in his head and a fire in his belly.

With a long, relieved moan that shook him from his throat to his toes scrabbling against his boot soles in a desperate attempt to curl, Finn gave in to the need that filled every inch of him and sucked on his thumb.

Fuck. *Fuck.* Idris must have done something more to his head than had been obvious from the bottle. There was no other explanation for how right it felt, how even his pulse seemed to move in time with his mouth. The only thing that would make this better would be if there were more, if Idris would fill his throat until he couldn't breathe around the girth of his cock.

Finn's eyes, half-lidded with his concentration on Idris, flew open wide as that thought finally broke through the fog.

"There must be something else you want," he gasped as soon as he'd pulled himself free. This time he made no attempt to wipe his face; it wouldn't do a damn thing to salvage his dignity and might end with him finger-fucking his own mouth.

"No, I don't think there is." Idris squeezed Finn's cock as he said _no_. "But since you were polite enough to ask, I'll let you have what you want. You can crawl under the table and put my cock in your mouth, since you've obliged me so far."

"I don't-- I'm not going to suck your cock." Finn stumbled over his words; he could feel himself blushing red as the firelight just thinking about it. He wanted it so much he could taste it, but at the same time he knew that he didn't want it. It was all tangled up in his head, and what he needed was a moment to make sense of things.

"There's two." Did Idris actually sound impressed with that, whatever it was? Two what?

_Wait._ Two refusals. Another set of threes, a little bit of magic of his own to get him through this. From the sound of it, if Idris asked again and Finn turned him down, that would be the end of it. He could finish that damned glass of whiskey and leave this place with nothing more than a story he wouldn't tell anyone for his trouble.

Even knowing he had the power to end this if only given the chance, the urge to kneel was so great that he had to grip the edge of the table to keep himself in place. He didn't need to put Idris' cock in his mouth, just kneel there and get his bearings back-- it felt like it would calm him down. He could kneel down there where he couldn't feel everyone's eyes on him and rest his head on Idris' knee for a moment.

Now it seemed there was very little table between them at all, Idris so improperly close that Finn could feel breath on his face. Cold breath, fresh as snowy air despite how hot his hand felt around his cock. Somehow the glass was still out of reach, his fingers only touching air and the rough wood of the tabletop when he reached for it.

"Let's make a trade," Idris murmured in his ear, voice so cold that Finn shivered even in his burning grasp. "If you kneel, I'll let you have a drink of the whiskey. From your glass, no tricks or bottles."

"Just kneeling," Finn said. There had to be a trick there, something in this game's web of rules he didn't even know that would let Idris win, but hells if he could figure out what it was. And the thought of kneeling for a moment was so tempting.

"All you have to do is kneel." Idris stroked him particularly roughly, and Finn bucked into his hand with a groan. There was something missing, like his hand wasn't enough to get Finn off, and it was that frustration that drove him to nod.

"All right," he said, and Idris let go of him. As soon as he did, Finn slipped under the table and settled at Idris' knee like a hound.

It did feel better, having the floor under his knees and the top of the table as a buffer between him and the rest of the room.

Finn was not prepared for the sight of his cock, already out and hard and wet at the tip. There was so much more if it than he'd ever seen before, so much more that he could all but feel the head of it hitting the back of his throat. 

He was even less prepared for how much he wanted to lean forward and lick the slick right off the head of Idris' cock. There was so much of it, and it would go to waste if it dripped onto the floor.

Idris wrapped his hand around himself and stroked, long and slow, and Finn wasn't prepared for the sudden punch of panicked jealousy in his gut. _Mine, mine, you said I could have it and you said never go back on your word--_

"And I don't." Had he said that out loud? He should have covered his mouth. Except he couldn't; his hands were planted on the chair to either side of Idris' hips and refused to budge.

Finn was so close now that if he ducked his head forward and held out his tongue, he could have caught a drop of precome in his mouth. Idris wasn't jerking himself off anymore; instead, he threaded his sticky fingers in Finn's hair.

Finn let his forehead rest against Idris' hipbone. If he could stop for a moment, breathe, collect his thoughts-- maybe then he could focus on something besides the cock rubbing warm and slick against his cheek. All it would take was a turn of his head for it to slip into his mouth.

He shivered a little at the thought. The scent of it was fogging his head, and tasting it would be--

Idris tightened the hand in his hair, and Finn didn't even have the briefest instant to figure out whether he'd liked the pain or not or not when the head of Idris' cock touched his lips. That was a far gentler touch, a silken, soft glide as it came to rest against his lips.

He didn't have to suck on it. The rules-- he couldn't forget what he'd managed to figure out of this game, no matter how close temptation was to his tongue-- hadn't said he couldn't _lick_. He could have a taste and still walk out of here a free man, walk out of here and find a man, any man at all. No, wait, a man with a bigger cock than Idris', a reward for playing the game and winning. Then another, and another. If he could stop himself at a taste and say _no_ and make it out of here, everything would be fine.

He opened his mouth a tiny bit, just far enough for his tongue to slip out.

_Fuck_. 

He couldn't stop-- he lapped at Idris' cock, going for every drop he could. There was... something... about it, something he needed that hadn't been there with his fingers. The taste of it, the warm liquid slip of soaked skin against his bruised lips, how the head would feel between his lips. He could suck it just a little, couldn't he? That wouldn't count, flirting with it like he had with the bottle rim.

He squirmed when Idris slipped into his mouth, desperate for more. It was only a hint of him inside his lips, not between his teeth or on his tongue-- enough that he could feel it stretch oversensitive skin and not miss a drop of precome. 

He'd tried to forget about his own arousal in his desperation and planning, but there it was: present, all-consuming, and cresting higher every time he sucked.

If he hadn't felt the vibration in his own throat, he would have sworn the moan he heard was Idris. Finn had never made a sound so filthy in his life, a yearning noise that said _please, fuck me_ even to his own ears.

The already unyielding fingers in his hair turned even rougher, a flash of pain that grounded him back into reality. Why had he thought this didn't count? He had a cock in his mouth, he'd been sucking on it, and Idris hadn't said anything about _what counted_.

But Finn hadn't agreed to do this. If luck stood with him today, there was a chance-- all he had to do was pull away and get Idris to ask him again. Then he could say no and leave, leave and tell everyone he had a mouth good enough for one of the Fair Folk to take notice and ask who wanted to try it.

His jaw wouldn't work.

Or rather, it wouldn't pull him away or bite down or do anything else that might actually help him. It opened up well enough when Idris shoved his head forward until that blessed, wonderful cockhead pressed against the back of his throat.

Time did something strange, then: it felt like everything had stopped. Finn could feel his own pulse running like a rabbit, feel his cock twitching, but past those there was nothing but the stretch and weight. 

Stretch, weight, and oh, gods and ancestors, the only thing he ever wanted to taste again.

"You almost have it," Idris said, a slight hitch in his breathing the only audible hint of what he was doing to Finn. "You're so very close, but you're going to fail. I'm going to fuck your throat until you cry, and then I'm going to come in your pretty hair. And after I do, you're going to beg for another chance so this time you can taste me."

Everything further blurred around the edges when Idris thrust forward even deeper. Tears, he realized; he was crying and he couldn't breathe. There was a cock in his throat and it _hurt_ , and he'd never been more desperate to come in his life.

Idris pulled back out of his throat, and that was worse. As soon as Finn wasn't choking and gagging, the terrible need to suck was back. But he couldn't move like he needed to with Idris holding him in place; all he could do was beg with incoherent noise as he sucked on his half a mouthful of cock.

As soon as the hand gentled on his head and he had the slack to do so, Finn pulled back. He wasn't sure whether he was trying to get away-- he thought rather vaguely that he should have been-- until he was nearly off Idris' cock entirely. He was back where he'd started, only the tip between his lips.

Finn took a deep, trembling breath, closed his eyes, and slid his mouth right back down.

His heartbeat, his mouth, his cock, the echo of a pulse he could feel in Idris in his mouth-- they were all one rhythm tapping into his skull. He couldn't hear anything else, not even the humming, delighted filth that he knew was moaning up out of him. He wanted, wanted so much that his mouth was watering again.

He was still crying, though he had trouble holding onto why. Between that and the saliva and precome he could feel on his chin and throat, he must have looked a horrific mess. The only thing that would make it better would be come, in his mouth and down his throat and all over his face.

That was when he realized exactly what had been missing when Idris had touched his cock before: this, his mouth and throat forced open and filled so overwhelmingly that it made everything else fade into the background. Now that he had it, he fumbled a hand into his own unlaced trousers and began to stroke himself.

He moved in time to the rhythm Idris set, the hands in his hair steady if not so punishing as they had been before. That was it, exactly what he needed that he hadn't been getting. He dripped all over his hand, his cockhead nearly as messy as his mouth; he didn't know whether it was thanks to his hand or the bruising stretch of his lips around Idris.

He felt everything in him tighten as his body tensed up in the prelude to his orgasm, and before he quite knew what he was doing he swallowed Idris down so far into his throat that it hurt. It hurt, but it was _everything_ and he was trembling, about to come--

\--and Idris wrenched Finn's head back and off his cock in one quick, brutal motion at exactly the wrong moment. His cockhead hit Finn's cheek again, and he rubbed it there once, twice, and came with a groan on the side of Finn's face and in his hair.

"Adequate," he said after he caught his breath, and Finn let out a broken little sound he didn't quite recognize as he let his hand fall away from his own cock. Disappointment, perhaps, that he hadn't had the chance to taste come. "And just think, we could have avoided all this if you'd done this in the first place instead of making yourself _interesting_."

It took all of his willpower not to duck his head forward and take the softening cock between his lips again. It wouldn't fill his throat, not the way he wanted, but it would be something. Would it count as saying yes if he asked, instead of answering a question? Surely it wouldn't.

Then something else occurred to him.

"You said--" Finn almost didn't recognize his own voice, hoarse and hungry. "You said that if I knelt, I could have the drink."

"So I did," Idris agreed. Finn could hear the sound of something moving on top of the table. "But I said that you could have _a_ drink from your glass, not the whole thing. I think a little every time you suck my cock is a fair trade, don't you? Your punishment ought to last long enough to correct your behavior."

"I'm not going to say it," Finn rasped. "You're trying to trick me."

"There you go again, being clever enough to be interesting." Idris pushed two fingers into Finn's mouth, wet with whiskey, and Finn sucked on them with a grateful little moan. "Eager as you are, you'll be through the glass in no time at all."

Then the sound of heavy boots came close to the table and stopped, and there was a lull in their conversation as Idris spoke in a language that didn't sound made for human throats. Listening to them was like-- like a howling wind, something that meant danger. He couldn't make out a word of it and wasn't sure he would want to.

"And since you're so desperate for it," Idris said, in a sensible language once again, "You can always put someone else's cock in your mouth until I'm ready for you again. I wouldn't want you to get bored."

The second man sat down, knees spread wide enough that his posture made his intentions obvious, and Finn crawled between them. It only took a moment for him to pull the trouser laces with his teeth and lower his mouth onto an even bigger cock with a satisfied moan, but a moment was too long.

"But remember, I said you get a drink every time you suck _my_ cock." Idris spoke just as Finn began thrusting into his hand again in the hope of getting off before the man in his mouth did. "The others are to keep you busy until then."

He could hear rustling and footsteps, a lull in the conversations around him, and suddenly he felt as exposed as he'd been before he had crawled under the table. Everyone in the room knew what he was doing, he realized with a shiver that was almost pleasurable, and they were going to want their turn.

He moaned and let his eyes fall shut, losing himself to the cock in his throat and the whisper of conversation he couldn't understand. It was better this way, really; as long as he stayed gagged on a cock, he couldn't be tricked into saying _yes, I'll suck your cock_.


End file.
